


Defenders Material

by notallfoxes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel (Comics), Moon Knight (Comics), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Adults Talking About Their Problems, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Jewish Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Instability, Team as Family, There’s not enough Moon Knight fan fiction, Where’s Moon Knight’s Netflix show?!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallfoxes/pseuds/notallfoxes
Summary: Daredevil, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, Iron Fist, and Moon Knight: five solitary human beings, each burdened with their own personal challenges, who realize they might actually be stronger together. This is a chronicle of street heroes that defend the city they love on a day-to-day basis.





	1. The Royal Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my personal take on these established characters interacting with one and other. There'll be a definite departure from the canon and more delving into the characters in the following chapters.
> 
> Really, I just wanted to try my hand at writing Moon Knight into the MCU, figuring out how he'd get along with everybody, and putting a different spin on Netflix's "Defenders."
> 
> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

The Royal Dragon Chinese restaurant had seen all sorts of customers pass over its threshold, but never before had five vigilantes barged their way inside after closing time seeking shelter from ninja assailants. From the get-go, it was clearly going to be an unusual evening. Even so, watching the taxi driver of the group fiercely argue with himself in a corner did not improve the already weird scenario. 

 

“I’m not a douche! YES YOU ARE! Stop whackin’ me!”

 

“Anybody else seeing this?” Jessica Jones whisper-yelled as if she was the one losing her mind, and not witnessing someone else in the midst of a complete psychotic break.

 

Matt Murdock smiled cheekily, Jessica’s tattered grey scarf still wrapped over his eyes, as he paced the foyer. “I'm not seeing much of anything, Jones,” he quipped.

 

The cab driver continued, oblivious to those around him. “This is exactly what we agreed not to do! Our arrangement calls for transparency!” he grit out through clenched teeth. 

 

His speech inflection changed abruptly: “I keep tellin' yeh, I’m supposed to deal wit teh grimy details,” the new voice protested. “Stuff you don’t wanna know about. I got dis, you can chill!”

 

Across the room, a wide-eyed Luke Cage glanced at the surly PI beside him. “Oh I’m seeing it,” he shrugged his mountainous shoulders helplessly. “Just don’t know what it is.”

 

“Good enough for me,” Jessica mumbled.

 

Suddenly Matt froze mid-step. His head tilted ever so slightly toward the bay window - like a wolf listening for its prey. “I still hear neon,” he announced, and swiftly moved to switch off the illuminated signs.

 

Luke pulled his former associate aside. “Who hears neon?” he asked incredulously. 

 

The exhausted detective shook her head lackadaisically. “My blind-but-maybe-not lawyer.” 

 

The Hero of Harlem leaned in closer, brow furrowed. “Your what? What do you mean he's blind?”

 

His question fell by the wayside; ‘Taxi McMustache’ was firmly scolding himself. Hands on his hips, the stranger shakily exhaled as he gazed at the ceiling, as if asking god for patience. 

 

“Don’t let this become a problem,” he grumbled. He removed his old newsboy cap and raked his fingers through disheveled brown hair. 

 

As he turned to join them, Luke and Jessica got their first real look at the man that had fought beside them at Midland Circle. Besides his mustache, the cab driver's face was peppered with a bushy beard shadow that made Matt’s facial hair look like pubescent peach fuzz. Dark circles framed chestnut eyes, and a ghostly pale scar split his left eyebrow. He carried himself like a film noir anti-hero - somewhat hunched with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his tawny field coat. His overall weariness was especially disconcerting considering that beneath it all was a man who seemed to beonly a couple of years older than Danny Rand, the youngest among them.

 

“How we doin’?” intoned the cabbie. His thick NYC accent would have been laughably stereotypical if the duo weren’t disturbed by his ravings.

 

“You tell us,” retorted Jessica. “Who the hell are you anyway?” she demanded with all the delicacy of a bulldozer.

 

The man grinned widely beneath his thick whiskers, resembling a piranha more than a human being. “Do yeh mean who I am right now? Or in general?” It was as if there was some kind of hysterical joke that only he was in on.

 

Though perturbed, Luke intervened before Jessica could politely inquire what in the name of ass that was supposed to mean. “Easy, Jess,” he planted a strong hand on her shoulder, “He drove me to Midland Circle.” In a cab that was about as clean as a gas station urinal and reeked of cigarettes and old sweat went unsaid.

 

“Yeah, where he proceeded to beat the living shit out of highly-trained assholes. Wearing spiked. Fucking. Knuckles,” she stressed. Jessica noticed movement within the driver’s pockets, no doubt fingerssoothing swollen joints that had taken the brunt of the impacts from his knuckle dusters.

 

“Everything's locked,” Matt panted, putting the taxi driver and detective’s standoff on hold. He tugged off his pea coat and draped it over a chair. “I think we're safe for now.”

 

“So we're just gonna wait it out here?” asked Luke. He tried to meet Matt’s gaze, but the vigilante kept staring at or over his shoulder instead. Luke wondered if it was pride or distrust that made him unable to maintain eye contact.

 

Matt shrugged sharply. “You got a better plan?” He loosened his tie and gestured at Luke and Jessica. “Do you two know each other?”

 

“Yeah.” Jessica hesitated, carefully considering what and what not to reveal. For a blind guy, Matt was unnervingly adept at seeing through lies and excuses. She decided her best bet was to respond both concisely and vaguely. “We met. We drank. I shot him in the head,” she said flatly. Matt chuckled at her refreshing frankness.

 

“He says we can stay,” chirped Danny as the manager headed back into the kitchen. The boy billionaire drifted toward them in an olive suit tailored so perfectly that it rippled with his every movement. “I just had to give him my black card, agreed to pay the rent for the next six months,” he beamed as he rocked back on his heels. The cab driver whistled lowly. Luke and Jessica exchanged dumbfounded looks. For being one of the wealthiest people on the planet, this kid had a terrible concept of money.

 

“Hey, I’m Danny. Danny Rand,” he offered his hand to the skeptical PI.

 

“Jessica.” She immediately regretted returning the gesture. The kid’s energetic handshake threatened to tear her arm out of its socket.

 

All heads turned to Luke’s enigmatic cabman. The roughneck warily examined each of them before bowing his head in surrender, wearing the frown of a man who realized that he had nothing left to lose. He winced as he reluctantly peeled off his paintbrush mustache, and blew out his cheeks with a rueful frown.

 

“Moon Knight,” he answered.

 

“What the fuck?!” Jessica’s jaw practically hit the floor.

 

Danny carried on cluelessly. “And, uh you are?” He lowered himself to Matt’s eye level.

 

“No, I can’t. I'm not doing this,” the masked man grimaced. He angled himself away from them, trying to disengage as quickly and politely as possible.

 

“Doing what?” Danny scrunched his nose like a confused rabbit.

 

“Oh, come on! Fair is fair!” Moon Knight groaned, his accent gone and his back straight.

 

“Look, whatever happened back there, we did what we had to. We got out alive. The less we know about each other, the better. This is… It's too much already.”

 

“Okay.” Jessica darted for the scarf tied around her lawyer’s head. He instantly bent backward like a _Matrix_ character and swatted her offending hand away.

 

“Jesus,” she sneered. It was almost funny except for the fact that he was wearing her favorite (only) scarf.

 

“There are people I need to protect-” he began.

 

“You’re not the only one,” Luke interrupted, jaw set.

 

“And the organization we just fought is powerful,” Matt continued in earnest.

 

Moon Knight snorted. “Yeah, well, what else is new.”

 

“Who even are they?” asked Jessica.

 

“They call themselves the Hand,” Danny replied in a deadly serious voice.

 

Jessica squeezed her eyelids shut. At her this rate, she was going to roll her eyeballs out of her head. “What are they really called?” she breathed tightly.

 

“No, he's right,” Matt affirmed.

 

Danny shifted toward him, perhaps feeling some sort of kinship with the attorney. “You crossed paths with them before?”

 

“Yeah, it-” Matt cut himself off andbit his bottom lip. “It doesn't matter,” he dismissed.

 

“Bullshit it doesn't matter!” Jessica exploded, face wild and fists clenched.

 

“Yeah, man. I'm with her on this,” Moon Knight crossed his arms.

 

“Same here,” Luke rumbled in his rich tone.

 

Danny raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, we need to figure out our next move,” he advised in an effort break the palpable tension between them.

 

Matt huffed a laugh. “No. There’s no next move.” The idea of pursuing this matter wasn’t unwise, it was suicidal. They should be satisfied with their miracle escape from Midland Circle Financial, part ways, and never speak of it again.

 

“And there is no ‘we,’” Jessica added along the same train of thought. “They came at us, we fought our way out. Let's call it professional courtesy. End of story.”

 

“It's not that simple,” Danny insisted. “These people are dangerous.”

 

The irritable woman’s eyes flashed as she rounded on him: "So am I," she snapped. "Now, somebody tell me what I need to know about the Hand, so I can be on my way,” she curled her lips icily. She’d just about hit her limit - which was was pretty low, to be honest - with this Illuminati garbage.

 

“What is that?” Luke pointed at a parade of about three cooks and the manager trailing out of the kitchen. Each bore a precarious stack of dishes in one arm and a ridiculously large assortment of Chinese cuisine in the other.

 

Danny spun around and tittered nervously. “Oh. Um, as, uh part of the deal, he made me order four of everything,” he stuttered, paying more attention to the steamy food than his anxious allies.

 

“We’re not here to eat.” Luke talked down to him the same way an exasperated father would to his wayward son.

 

“Speak for yourself.” Moon Knight regarded him like he had a screw loose. “I’m always down for some _safe treyf_ Chinese.”

 

Danny disregarded them and hungrily eyed one of the incoming trays, sparing enough self-control to keep from drooling onto the carpet. “Are those pork?” he questioned the over-worked staff. 

 

“No, they're shrimp,” Matt said. His nostrils flared. “This guy's got pork.” He gestured at the last of the chefs.

 

“Ah, great!” Danny rubbed his hands together, and sped over to their contractual feast with an equally famished Moon Knight not far behind. Luke pursued them out of a desire for answers, and Jessica pointedly sighed as she stomped past Matt. 

 

“God, you're weird,” she muttered. The blind man massaged the back of his neck, took a moment to center himself, and followed her scent of bottom shelf bourbon and leather.

 

“The Hand is an ancient criminal organization,” Danny explained. He snatched a dumpling and shoved it into his mouth as the five of them circled the table.

 

“Define ancient,” Luke braced himself. Whatever came next, as ludicrous as it might sound, he was going to have to keep an open mind about it.

 

“They live forever,” Danny garbled with a full mouth. The boy wasn’t making it any easier for Luke to listen to him when he provided explanations like that.

 

Jessica scoffed humorlessly. “You wanna try that again?” She arched a doubtful brow and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.

 

Matt reiterated for him since the young fighter was too preoccupied with stuffing his face. “They live by a fanatical ideology, and every member is willing to die to protect it.”

 

“So they're terrorists then,” Moon Knight assumed. He rested his forearms on a chair back and scratched his dark bristles.

 

“No. Terrorists want the world to know what they're doing. This is something more secret, more evil,” Matt clarified.

 

“And they're global,” Danny chimed in while chewing yet another wonton.

 

Luke steadily rubbed circles into his temples. “But what do they do?” he huffed in vexation.

 

“Everything.” Danny extended his arms as if to illustrate all of the Hand’s crimes from time immemorial.

 

“Including the recruitment of young men in Harlem?” Luke asked disbelievingly. It was strange - and more than a little unsettling - to think that such a vast criminal organization needed to outsource teenagers from his lifelong neighborhood.

 

“Apparently,” said Danny. “They’re in New York for a reason, but I can’t figure out why.” Frustration crinkled his sky blue eyes, briefly replacing his boyishness with the thousand-yard stare of a hardened warrior. He unconsciously took a harsh bite out of his current wonton, like the greasy roll was responsible for their predicament.

 

“What do you mean, ‘fanatical ideology?’” blurted an impatient Jessica. She literally could not care less about Danny’s fairy tales. All she wanted was basic information on his creepy-ass ninja cult that would speed up her investigation. Then, she could finally shamble over to the nearest bar and drown in a bottle of Jack. God knew she deserved (needed) it after this shitshow of a week.

 

“It’s going to sound crazy,” Matt warned. He swiveled his head in the approximate direction of her alto timbre.

 

“Crazy is my six-day workweek,” Moon Knight assured him. “What do they want?” he pressed the young man.

 

“Immortality,” Danny casually responded, as if obtaining eternal life was par for the course during his own six-day workweek. “They want power and influence at every level across the world.” He paused, his lips set in a grim line. “And I think they want me.”

 

“For your money?” guessed Moon Knight.

 

Danny shook his curly-haired head. “I’m the Immortal Iron Fist,” he revealed in a low, dramatic voice.

 

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. This again. This mystical, pipe dream, _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_ crap.

 

“Come again?” Matt leaned forward and cocked his head.

 

“Sworn protector of K’un-Lun,” Danny rephrased. He wore an expression that said they should know what that was.

 

Jessica’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What are you on? Lithium?” she hissed at him.

 

Moon Knight shot ‘Hong Kong Phooey’ a toothy smirk. “I know how it feels, kid,” he sympathized. “You and me,” he pointed at the perplexed Danny, “we’re going to get along great.”

 

Preferring not to dwell on that, Matt seized the chance to make his getaway. “This is a mistake. I can't be a part of this,” he sputtered. The sightless lawyer waved at them pitifully while rushing for his coat.

 

Luke caught up with him before he could reach the front door. “If you ask me, you already are,” he argued. “We need to put it all on the table.” 

 

Matthew Murdock, aka Daredevil, was many things, but an idiot wasn’t one of them. He knew exactly what Luke was implying. If the mysterious Moon Knight wanted to reveal his identity to total strangers, that was fine. If SoHo’s crusader had the balls and the hubris to believe thathe could protect his loved ones indefinitely, that was fine too. But Matt remained resolute in taking his secret to the grave. He refused to risk the few, fragile friendships he had left justto satiate these people’s curiosity.

 

“I don't know you, man,” he evaded, “I don't owe you any-“

 

“I don't trust you,” Luke cut him offcoolly. He clamped his enormous fingers into the wiry muscles of Matt’s arm; the unbreakable man was done mincing words.

 

Well Matt could play the intimidation game too. “You want to take your hand off my shoulder?” he snarled, resembling a canine for the second time that evening. A rabid canine at that. But Luke did not yield. If anything, he stared directly into Matt’s defective eyes with even more steely determination than before.

 

Behind them, Jessica moaned lazily. “Oh, boy.” Unhurried, she approached the embattled heroes and cleared her throat. “Counselor, a word?” she intervened dryly and jutted her hip. Matt scowled, smacked Luke’s hand away roughly, and begrudgingly followed her to the front of the establishment.

 

When Luke looked back at him for support, Danny merely inclined his head and shrugged his fuzzy eyebrows, conveying a silent: “Don’t ask at me, I’m just as confused as you.”

 

The Iron Fist then turned to Moon Knight, now seated. His grungy hat sat next to him on the table as he relaxedly enjoyed a bowl of Kung Pao chicken. “You said that you know how it feels,” he started uncertainly, “for people to think you’re crazy.” The de-mustached guardian glanced up at him with an innocent, almost child-like air as he brought his chopsticks to his mouth and took a bite. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly?”

 

His shoulders shook with silent laughter as he finished chewing. He gave Danny a small, reassuring smile. “I, too, answer to a higher, supernatural power,” he said. “The ancient Egyptian god of the moon, Khonshu, chose me to be his avatar on earth. I am his instrument of vengeance, protecting travelers in the night.” His dark eyes widened, grin consuming his face. “A ray of moonlight in the darkness!” he announced grandiosely.

 

Danny and Luke’s mouths hung open. Their eyebrows nearly shot off their foreheads. Danny’s lips attempted to formulate a response, but they could only manage a weak, “Ah,” of affirmation.

 

Moon Knight broke into a giggle fit, rocking backward and clapping as he cried tears of mirth. “Oh, Lord that never gets old,” he wheezed.

 

Jessica sauntered between Luke and Danny wearing a satisfied smirk. Moon Knight wiped the wetness from his cheeks and rose to his feet. The detective nodded confidently - the devil would come. Sure enough, Matt returned sans scarf, his auburn hair adorably tousled. The only oddities in his otherwise ordinary appearance were his frosty brown pupils, downcast and unfocused. Without looking, he gave Jessica her balled-up scarf.

 

“My name is Matthew,” he murmured.

 

 


	2. Specter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the LAST chapter that'll follow the show's cannon. Even so, I utilize it loosely to introduce unfamiliar readers - and the characters - to the origin of Moon Knight. It's not all getting explained at once, either; Moony, kind of like Daredevil early on in this show, doesn't trust his fellow Defenders with all of his secrets just yet (or feel confident enough to give an in-depth explanation of his Dissociative Identity Disorder - split personalities).
> 
> BE FOREWARNED: as is typical with Moon Knight, the violence racks up in this chapter in the form of flashbacks. The rest of the fanfic WILL NOT be like this. The bloody content in this section is just to illustrate and differentiate Moon Knight's early life from those of the TV characters.
> 
> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

Marc Spector took in a long, deep breath. Do it like a Band-Aid. Rip it right off.

 

“Okay. So, if we’re putting everything ‘on the table,’” he made air quotes, “I may as well tell you guys who you’re dealing with.” Marc gestured shyly at his chest with the sauce-coated tips of his chopsticks.

 

Murdock had just revealed that he was Daredevil. What's more, he possessed a nifty, radar-like sense that allowed him to ‘see’ better than any sighted person. When pressed for details, he played the old “It’s a long story,” card. But Marc could see the pain in Matt’s blank eyes. It wasn’t that Daredevil’s origin was complex, but rather too agonizing to recall.

 

Marc had never been social - his alternate personalities could attest to that. Naturally, he was not a fan of groups; he already had more than enough voices inside his head pestering him twenty-four-seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. But even Moon Knight, who had battled an actual werewolf and the pyrokinetic avatar of Ra, had to admit that a never-ending army of zombie ninja seeking to destroy New York City with artificial earthquakes was way above his pay grade. If these disparate defenders had to work together, then they were going to need to be honest with one another. Maybe if Marc opened up about his past (his abridged past, of course, hypocrite that he was), Matt would trust them with his own.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jessica poured scorn on his outreach attempt. “Do we get an explanation for this?” she gestured harshly at his ragged appearance.

 

 _“They do not trust you, my son,”_ a beak clacked in disapproval.

 

Unaffected, Marc discretely glimpsed the ominous speaker out of the corner of his eye: Khonshu, seated upright in a faux bamboo chair with steepled fingers and crossed legs. As always, the moon god was garbed in a pure white three piece suit, while his head - a brittle bird skull - hovered above a crisp collar.

 

_“Your fun with the boy and the unbreakable one revealed your true nature. That of a sick, damaged soul.”_

 

“Jess,” Luke fixed her with a stern glare. “Let the man talk.” She huffed an irritated laugh and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

 _“They have only just begun to comprehend your mental fragility,”_ the deity said in a satiny whisper, his bill now barely brushing the shell of Marc’s ear. His slave shivered involuntarily. _“You are a liability, and they will be glad to be rid of you.”_ Khonshu’s frozen breath ghosted down his spine like a feather over bare skinas he evaporated into nothingness.

 

 _“And I will be waiting,”_ lingered in the air.

 

Luke gave Marc a nod of encouragement. “Go ahead, man,” he said. Danny stared at Marc like a cheery chipmunk with his food-filled cheeks, while Matt remained as impassive as ever, his head aimed at the empty space between him and Luke. Marc returned the nod and exhaled audibly, studying the moon-pale tablecloth intently. 

 

“I was a mercenary,” Marc began. “I killed… a lot of people.” His furry face twisted into a straight grimace. “And the whole time I was overseas as a contract killer, not once did I regret any of it.” He took a moment, deliberately closing and opening his lids as he recalled the fading swelter of Sudan at twilight. 

 

“Until the day my partner and I were hired for a raid on an archeological site…”

 

***

 

Coarse, arid sand, scalding, stagnant air, and the setting sun beating down on his face. A desert. Something else on his face too. Something warm and sticky. His parched tongue flicked between cracked lips and tasted copper. Blood. Whose?

 

“They told me you were crazy, Spector.”

 

An accent. Bass, African. Then a sudden firmness smashed into his left eye. A punch? No, that was too dense to be a fist.

 

Another blow. There went his jaw, dislocated and swinging like a screen door in the wind. He had felt the rise and fall of what might have been knuckles just then. Maybe it was a fist after all. A fist made of concrete and rage.

 

“I thought they meant the fun kind.” That voice again. Cold, disappointed, and perhaps slightly amused.

 

Ichor stained the absorbent grains below in a halo. Fresh rivulets plastered hair to his quickly numbing forehead. Ah. It was his blood. 

 

Things gradually came into focus. The orange and purple skies above him were obscured by the fuzzy figure of a behemoth. As the blur waned, he made out the familiar, Cheshire cat visage of a monstrous man decorated with wraithlike tribal paint. Marc’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

 

“But you’re just soft,” Raul Bushman spat wetly, yellow shark teeth bared. “Broken.”

 

He turned on his jackbooted heel. Gunfire barked in his wake as the local diggers were mowed down. Innocents he had tried and failed to save. Marlene wailed for her murdered father. Jean-Paul fought desperately against his muscled captors. The hurricane of helicopter blades rose up and away.

 

Marc was alone. He should have listened to Frenchie. He should never have taken this job. But he was a broken man. A broken man who thought that money would make him whole.

 

***

 

“Back then, I was convinced that, in our own way, we were making the world a better place. Hunting down scum for the right price and all that.” Marc’s shoulders slumped. His forefinger painted imaginary frescoes across his makeshift canvas.

 

“But executing civilians… That wasn’t-” 

 

In his indignation, Marc struggled to best express his disgust. “I couldn’t lie to myself anymore,” he eventually asserted. “No payday was worth that. I had to stop Raul before he killed anyone else.” A bitter snicker rasped out of his throat. “And all I have to show for it is this,” Marc ran his fingertips over the thin, ivory scar that tore through his brow, “and more death on my conscience.”

 

“But what happened after Bushman left you for dead?” Dannyinquired excitedly, a child hanging on the edge of his seat during story time.

 

Luke, on the other hand, stayed reasonably calm throughout the duration of Marc’s tale. He made up for his lack of enthusiasm with a probingly suspicious attitude. “Yeah, is that when all that… ‘moon god’ stuff happened?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

 

Marc looked down and away; he wasn’t ready to talk seriously about that yet. “I wandered in roughly the same direction the chopper flew for about seven miles,” he continued. “By some miracle, I reached the main dig site and… rested awhile in the tomb of Pharaoh Seti. When I woke up, I made Bushman pay. Rescued Jean-Paul and Marlene. Got us stateside.”

 

“You’re called ‘Moon Knight,’ dude,” Jessica drawled impatiently. “What kinda freaky shit did you get into over there?” 

 

***

 

He collapsed in a puddle of his own blood beneath the moonstone gaze of Khonshu’s caped idol, and died. And yet, in death, Marc dreamed of the cosmos - celestial rainbow surroundings that stretched beyond comprehension. There, he encountered the vengeful moon god himselfand was appointed avatar.

 

His soul was haphazardly ripped apart, spiritual molecules rearranged, and shot like a lightening bolt back into his husk. The Fist of Khonshu, not Marc Spector, awoke in a cold sweat. He rose and clothed himself in the ancient statue’s chalky cloak without hesitation. Its pigment was quickly soiled beyond all recognition with the insides of Bushman’s mercenaries. The lunar legionnaire blew through them like a ghost, stealthily snapping one’s neck before smothering another as he stabbed their heartless chest. He was an elusive cloud of smoke that the soldiers of fortune, literally, couldn’t shoot to save their lives. 

 

Soon enough, only Bushman remained. The demon disguised as a man sank his razor sharp steel fangs into Marc’s leg, hip, forearm, and shoulder - tearing away muscle each time - as they wrestled amidst the scaffolding and ruins.

 

But Marc could take it, he could take anything now.

 

He ignored his body’s cries of agony and held Bushman down in a chokehold. He brandished a Ka-Bar already coated in blood, and leaned so closely to his former employer that he could feel Bushman’s labored breaths brush across his nose.

 

“Just like you told me,” Marc had growled. “Fear is the key.”

 

He took his blade and, as precise as a macabre surgeon, carved that grinning, animalistic face off of Bushman’s skull. All he registered was the slow ‘scriiipch' of each cut and the squelch of syrupy blood around his knees.

 

Surrounded by swirling sand, Moon Knight hoisted the horrid slab of flesh overhead to the starry sky, and screamed until his voice gave out.

 

***

 

“Hey, McDonald's Moon Man,” Jessica’s grinding voice mocked. "You home, or should I leave a message and call back later?"

 

The ex-mercenary fiddled with his coat cuffs. He chewed his bottom lip indecisively. Like a Band-Aid, like a Band-Aid, like a goddamn Band-Aid.

 

“I died beneath Khonshu’s statue in Seti’s tomb and the moon god resurrected me to be his avatar of vengeance and now I see him everywhere and hear his voice inside my head because he wants me to murder criminals to satiate his bloodlust but I’m trying to be a better man and will no way in hell kill someone again so we’re stuck in this sour relationship where he taunts me with my mistakes and also verbal abuse.”

 

“Okay stop, stop, stop,” Matt spread his hands, composed and pacifying. Unbeknown to Moon Knight, Daredevil could tell that the nervous vigilante was telling the truth. Or at least that Moon Knight believed he was telling the truth. “Just- um, what’s your real name?” Matt asked with an unsure smile, deciding that simpler questions would yield simpler answers.

 

Marc looked the blind lawyer in the eye out of force of habit and mustered a small smile. “Marc Spector,” he said.

 

“So, that was the moon god you were calling a douche earlier?” Luke inferred uncomfortably.

 

“Ehm… No. That was one of my alter-” Marc wanted to say ‘alter egos,’ but his honesty won out instead. Besides, ‘alter egos’ wouldn’t have made sense in that context anyway. “One of my alternate personalities,” he mumbled timidly.

 

“Excuse me?” Jessica scoffed, voice strained.

 

Marc squeezed his eyes shut and let go. Time for show n’ tell.

 

  _I wanna say a few words._

 

_They’ve already met you. Why don't I take the reins? I’m the most civil out of the three of us - it’ll be better received if you let me explain our modus vivendi._

 

_Yeh’re a blowhard, Steven. What we oughtta do is give ‘em a proper demonstration. And I’m just the man ta do it ‘cuz I ain’t a pussy, and I don’t feel no shame ‘bout who I am._

 

 _You don’t have any shame, period._ _Ass._

 

Jake Lockley rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck backwards with a loud crack, and sighed contentedly before wilting and resting his hands on the tabletop. He wore a crooked, mischievous smirk that would make a shark envious.

 

“I see yeh met Marc,” he hummed. “Marc’s disturbed as hell. But imagine dat he took all teh worst parts of himself n’ let dem fuse into a livin’ person.” He outstretched his arms, sharp smile widening. "Ta-da," he sang sardonically. “Jake Lockley, taxi driver, at your service.”

 

“You- Your heartbeat just… changed,” Matt stammered, disoriented and terrified all at once. The unique, life-affirming rhythm within Marc’s chest had, for the lack of a better word, reset itself to a whole new tempo. That was not something you could train your body to do - that was impossible.

 

Meanwhile, a chill ran up Jessica’s spine. As a PI, she could read and identify people by their tics within minutes. Either Marc Spector was an Academy Award-winning actor, or this actually was a complete stranger with a different set of behavioral patterns sitting in front of her. Staring wide-eyed, she clumsily pulled her chair away from the table as though it was on fire. 

 

“The fucking fuck is this Shyamalan _Split_ shit?!” she raised her voice shakily.

 

“Guys, please, can we put this on hold?” Danny piped up, trying to re-center them on the more pressing issue of hiding from undead assassins. “We need to formulate a plan, preferably one that doesn’t involve putting our friends in danger.”

 

“Or incriminate us,” Jake added hastily to assist in changing the topic. “None a’ us are on police payroll. What we did back dere was trespassin’, aggravated assault, n’ vigilante bullshit.”

 

Danny nodded eagerly. “Exactly! And as for doing this any ‘legal’ way,” he trailed off, making jazz hands. “Well, Luke, you saw what happened when I tried that,” he tossed his head toward the unbreakable man.

 

Luke raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that what that was?” he asked sarcastically.

 

“It started that way,” protested Danny, petulantly. “I mean, come on, look, I even put on a tie!” he flailed the strip of fabric around like it would prove his point.

 

“You cannot fight these people,” Matt promised him. “Not even with whatever it is your hand can do.”

 

“It’s chi,” Danny reminded him insistently, gesturing at his fist.

 

“Gesundheit,” Jake deadpanned. Jessica snorted and forked fingers through her inky tresses.

 

“What I'm saying is, going at them head on, that'll get you killed,” Matt said with a note of finality.

 

Danny shrugged idly. “Only if we do it alone,” he suggested, none too subtly, with a hopeful smile. He raised his eyebrows as he looked at each of the characters that sat around him, earnestness in his bright eyes.

 

“No,” Jessica declared immediately, adamantly. “I’m the first to admit when I'm in over my head, and this is way past my threshold.”

 

“What are you talking about?” the young man chuckled disbelievingly as she made to stand up. He pointed at each of them in turn. “Bulletproof. Psychopath (no offense). Blind ninja. Whatever it is you are,” he raised his hands at Jessica lamely.

 

“Classy,” she sassed with narrowed eyes.

 

Matt breathed a diplomatic chuckle and folded his arms. “I know you mean well, but we’re not whatever you think we are,” he half-smiled wanly. “We're five very different people, and while we might all have been trying to do some good, we need to be rational about how we proceed.”

 

All of a sudden, Daredevil’s spine straightened fluidly - as though an invisible puppeteer had tugged on just the right string to correct Matt’s posture. His head pivoted to the left with a slight angle favoring that side’s ear. “Oh, you got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

 

The restaurant’s back door clattered open against the wood paneled wall. Everyone jumped to their feet and assumed various defensive stances. Everyone except Matt, who only stood up with great reluctance before stiffly propping his hands on his hips. In strolled a grimy, gaunt, one-handed, homeless old man with a katana - of all things - clutched in his remaining fist.

 

“This,” he grumbled in a gravelly voice as he indicated the misfits with a wave of his sword, “is one shitty excuse for a hideout.”

 

“Stick,” Matt sighed bitterly, his lips screwed into a tight line.

 

“Matty,” the grey-haired reprobate acknowledged.

 

“Who the hell are you?” snarled the on edge Jessica Jones.

 

“The guy that's gonna help you save New York,” he shot back, a cocky smile dangling on the corner of his chapped lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the LAST chapter that'll follow the show's cannon. Even still, I utilize it loosely to introduce unfamiliar readers - and the characters - with the origin of Moon Knight. It's not all getting explained at once, either; Moony, kind of like Daredevil early on in the show, doesn't trust his fellow Defenders with all of his secrets yet (or feel confident enough to admit to his Dissociative Identity Disorder - split personalities).
> 
> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you.


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